


opus no. 20

by perissologist



Series: a little less conversation [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perissologist/pseuds/perissologist
Summary: “Hold up, hold up,” Jason shouts, cutting everyone off. “Street Fleet—the Street Fleet? Is that the Street Fleet that we’re talking about here?”“The biggest underground dance competition on the east coast?” Duke supplies, grinning.“The one that lasts almost an entire year, that’s never in the same city twice?” Kyle chimes.“The one that’s funded exclusively in private under-the-table donations from indie record labels and random billionaires?”“The one that draws in all of the most talented hip-hop dancers in the country?”“The one that basically guarantees a fast-track to the industry’s top dance gigs for its winners?”“The one with the five hundred thousand dollar cash prize—”





	

“After eleven months on the road for their critically acclaimed European tour, the Gotham Classics Company returned home last Friday for a welcome-back performance at the Emery Theater in downtown Gotham. The dance company, one of the most prestigious on the east coast and a jewel in Gotham’s crown since it was founded in the mid-sixties, made headlines again yesterday afternoon with a video statement released by its PR team on the ‘Announcements’ page of its website. The video features longtime member, star attraction, and heir apparent to the Wayne fortune, aerialist Richard Grayson, stating that the European tour was his last tour with the Classics Company, and that he will be permanently based in Gotham from hereon after.”

 

The newscast cuts to footage of a dressing room, brightly lit under the rows of fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling, nearly every available surface covered with heaps of props and costumes. The man sitting in front of the vanity is young enough to still be fresh-faced, his jet-black hair falling artfully over eyes that are a striking blue against the gold of his tanned skin. He’s pretty, painfully so, like he’s made for the camera—but there’s the slightest hint of tension in the creases of his eyes, like he’s struggling to maintain the image.

 

“Hey everyone,” he says, lifting a hand in a wave, “Dick Grayson here. The Company and I decided to put this video together because I have an announcement that I’d like to make. While I had an amazing time this past year and I loved meeting all of you from all over the world, I’ve decided that the European tour was my last long-distance tour with the Company. I’ve been traveling with the Company for almost seven years now, which means that I haven’t spent more than a year at a time in my hometown since I was fifteen, and I want to focus this next part of my career and my life on Gotham and the friends, family, and opportunities that I have here. That being said, I’ll still be performing regularly at the Company’s Gotham shows, so I hope that at least some of you who are local will still be able to come visit me at the Emery and Foundation Theaters.” He takes a breath and forces his smile wider, as if determined to finish strong. “To the Company’s international fans, I want to thank you all for your support over these past seven years, and I wish you all the best for the rest of 2016.”

 

The video ends, and the newscast cuts back to the anchor, who picks up her notes again. “In related news, the Wayne Foundation has begun construction on the Martha Wayne Arts Center in downtown Gotham, the second arts building that the Foundation has donated to the city, after the Wayne Foundation Theater in the Financial District…”

 

“Tragic,” Roy mutters, and Jason jumps, attention swinging away from the television and up to where Roy is leaning over his shoulder, gaze fixed on the screen. “That some rich aristocrat aerialist retiring from his international life of glamor to stick to a humbler local life of glamor is considered newsworthy nowadays.”

 

“It’s a Sunday mornings arts and culture fluff piece, Roy,” Duke shouts from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of cereal bowls. “Don’t be such a goddamn emo.”

 

Jason snorts while Roy looks offended, tossing a “Fuck you, Thomas,” over his shoulder. He glances back at the TV, but the video of Grayson is long gone. “That aerialist, though,” he says. “Didn’t you used to know him?”

 

Roy’s eyebrow twitches. “Used to,” he agrees. “That was a long time ago.”

 

Jason watches Roy for a moment, debating whether or not he wants to push it—but before he can decide, Roy’s phone chimes with a text, and he pulls it out and taps on the message. A beat passes; then his eyes go wide, jaw slowly dropping as he scans the screen. “Holy shit,” he says, gaze flying up to meet Jason’s—then a wide grin splits his face. “Holy _shit._ ” He whirls around and yells, into the kitchen and down the hallway: “Everyone! Get your asses in here!”

 

A minute later, the rest of the apartment comes drifting into the sitting area, expressions of disgruntled drowsiness still heavy on their faces. Kori yawns, stretching her arms above her head to reveal the strip of her toned stomach visible under her crop top. “What is it, Roy?”

 

Roy holds his phone up and recites the message to them, grin growing with each word. “SF, 2016: Gotham, NJ. September twelfth to August thirty-first. Compete to enter. Scouts are watching.” 

 

There’s a single, shocked moment of silence—then the room erupts.

 

“ _SF?_ As in _Street Fleet?”_

 

“No way! Here, in Gotham? No _way!_ ”

 

“How exciting! And what an honor to receive an invitation to perform for entry!”

 

“Shit, do you think that’s why Nightwing’s in Gotham? Do you think he’s gonna enter to compete in Street Fleet?”

 

“Hold up, hold up,” Jason shouts, cutting everyone off. “Street Fleet— _the_ Street Fleet? Is that the Street Fleet that we’re talking about here?”

 

“The biggest underground dance competition on the east coast?” Duke supplies, grinning.

 

“The one that lasts almost an entire year, that’s never in the same city twice?” Kyle chimes.

 

“The one that’s funded exclusively in private under-the-table donations from indie record labels and random billionaires?”

 

“The one that draws in all of the most talented hip-hop dancers in the country?”

 

“The one that basically guarantees a fast-track to the industry’s top dance gigs for its winners?”

 

“The one with the _five hundred thousand dollar cash prize_ — _”_

 

“ _Yes_.” Just the thought of that kind of money makes Jason vaguely dizzy. “That one.”

 

Roy laughs, throwing his arm around Jason’s neck. “That’s the one, baby,” he declares, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “And this year, we’re gonna win it.”

 

~*~

 

As a kid, silence used to bother Dick. He grew up in a circus: Noise was inescapable. Wherever you went, there was the clang of fair games, the bellows of elephants, the roar of the crowd; the constant clamoring was a sign of life, as comforting and familiar as a lullaby. Now, as a dancer and a performer, he’s always listening to choreography instructions, music, the awed gasps and enthusiastic clapping of the audience—except for right at this moment, in which he’s listening to nothing at all except for the soft breathing of the girl next to him.

 

This silence, Dick doesn’t mind so much. Cassandra is almost always quiet, preferring to speak with her eyes and her gestures rather than her voice. Right now, sitting in the passenger seat beside him, she’s telling him a lot: Her breathing is slow and even, which means she’s calm, relaxed; but her eyes are bright as she stares out the window at the highway rushing past them, which means she’s excited.

 

Keeping one eye on the road, Dick reaches out and lightly touches the back of Cassandra’s hand. He feels a surge of pride when she doesn’t jump, just turns to look at him, expression inquisitive. “Hey,” he says, softly. “You happy to be back home?”

 

Cassandra nods quickly, a smile forming. “Yes,” she says. “I liked touring, but…I have missed everyone.” 

 

“Even Damian?” Dick jokes.

 

Cassandra chuckles, brief and soft. “Even Damian,” she confirms. “He is…not so bad, to me.”

 

“Well, that’s because he _likes_ you,” Dick replies, shooting for dry but missing it by a mile—he can’t even stop himself from grinning at the thought of how close he is to seeing his baby brother again. “He wants you as his big sister. Probably figures he can’t afford to scare you away if he wants something better than his mediocre brothers hanging around the manor.” 

 

Cassandra laughs, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “He likes… _you_ best,” she retorts. Her smile falters. “And…I am not a big sister…yet.”

 

“ _Yet_ ,” Dick emphasizes. He shoots her a reassuring look, squeezing the tiny hand in his own. “We’ll win the trial, Cass, I promise. Bruce has the best of his lawyers working on it—and Bruce’s lawyers are already the best in the country. No way we’re gonna let you go back to your dad, alright?”

 

Cassandra’s eyes soften. “Thank you,” she murmurs, squeezing back. “I…believe it.”

 

“Good,” Dick says. They’re off of the highway now, cruising down the wooded road that leads to the single-occupancy lane that seats Wayne Manor. “You okay if I just drop you off?” He pauses. “I gotta get back to my apartment and make sure my landlord turns hot water on again before tonight—I got back too late to ask him yesterday, and let me tell you, taking a cold shower at three in the morning was _not_ pleasant.”

 

Cass looks at him and raises a single delicate eyebrow. “Liar.” 

 

Dick suppresses the urge to groan; he tried. “That obvious?”

 

“To me,” Cass says. “You’re…avoiding him.”

 

Dick sighs. “Cassie, things have been…tense between Bruce and I long before you became a part of our family, and I don’t think that’s going to change in the span of one afternoon visit home.” He turns on to Hitching Post Lane and guides the car towards the looming shape of the manor up ahead. “It’s probably best that I try to avoid any situations that involve him altogether. I don’t want to ruin our homecoming with another fight.”

 

Cass looks unconvinced. “You are twenty-two now…an adult.” She glances forward as they approach the manor gates, and something in her seems to unwind at the sight of the commanding Gothic estate spread out before them. “There has been time, and distance. Maybe…it is time to talk.”

 

Dick glances over at her, thoughtful, as they pull through the gates and up the driveway to the front entrance. “You know, little sis, sometimes I forget because you’re so quiet, but you’re wise beyond your years, aren’t you?”

 

Cassandra grins. “True,” she says; then she boosts the door open and practically leaps out of the car, hurrying up the front steps to the manor’s enormous oaken entrance. But, before she can even knock, one of the double doors swings open, and two boys spill out onto the stoop.

 

“Hey, you guys,” says the teenaged one, a happy grin lighting up his face. “Welcome home.” The younger one doesn’t bother with greetings, just shoots down the steps and across the gravel to bowl straight into Dick’s midriff.

 

Dick lets out a surprised grunt as he’s knocked back into his car—Damian’s gotten _strong_ while he was away. He laughs as Damian buries his head in his chest, bringing his arms up to wrap around the tiny child clinging to his front. “Hi, Dami,” he says. “I missed you, too.”

 

Abruptly, Damian releases his hold on Dick’s waist, stepping back to give a dignified sniff. “Grayson, it was unacceptable of you to stay away for so long,” he announces, a little pout somewhat ruining his haughty expression.

 

Dick smiles. “Well, no worries, Little D,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair, and it’s a testament to how far the kid’s come since Bruce brought him home from his mother that he lets it happen. “I’m here in Gotham for good now.”

 

“As you should be,” Damian declares, mollified. He turns to Cass and Tim, who are watching them fondly from the front steps. “Cain. It is good to see you as well.” He pauses, considering. “Though perhaps I should stop calling you by that inferior name, as you will be a Wayne soon enough.”

 

Dick’s chest sings with pride as Cassandra smiles, eyes bright and soft, and beckons to Damian. He goes, climbing up the steps again to allow Cass to pull him into a tight one-armed hug. “Thank you, little brother,” she murmurs. “You honor me.”

 

Damian lifts his chin, a satisfied expression on his small, sharp features. Dick chuckles, shaking his head, then slings the bags that he was in the process of bringing out before Damian greeted him over his shoulders and joins his siblings on the stoop. “Hey, Timmy,” he says, grabbing the teenager in a hug before the boy can protest. “You’ve gotten taller.”

 

“Yeah, dickhead, that’s what happens when you don’t come home for a year,” Tim shoots back, but his arms squeeze tight as he returns Dick’s hug. “Are you staying for lunch?”

 

Dick hesitates, then pulls away. “I’d love to, but—I gotta go back to my apartment, sort some things out with my landlord—”

 

“Bruce isn’t here,” Tim offers. His tone is neutral, but the look in his eyes is calculating, careful. “Got called into the office; something about an R&D emergency. Plus, Alfred made spicy basil tetrazzini—your favorite.”

 

Dick swallows, caught. He knows it’s not fair of him to put Tim between him and Bruce, but—sometimes that’s just the way it happens. He exhales, trying to urge the tension out of his body, and puts on a convincing smile. “Alright, then. I can’t say no to Alfred’s tetrazzini.”

 

“Cool.” Tim looks to Cass and Damian. “Damian, you go on ahead with Cass; I’m going to help Dick bring her bags in.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Drake,” Damian retorts, but pretty much obliges instantly, trailing after Cass as she leads him into the manor. Tim rolls his eyes, then turns back to Dick, offering to take one of the bags hanging off of Dick’s shoulders. “So,” he begins, conversationally. “I saw your announcement on the news. Last tour, huh?”

 

“Yep,” Dick confirms, doing his best to sound casual. “No more world-hopping for me.”

 

“Dick,” Tim says. “Are you still thinking about leaving the Company altogether?”

 

Dick swallows. He was afraid this would come up: Tim always burdens himself with issues that shouldn’t be his to handle. “Yeah, Timmy, I am.”

 

As expected, Tim looks worried. “Dick—what will you do? You’ve been dancing with the Company your entire life—and if you won’t accept Bruce’s help—”

 

“Tim,” Dick cuts him off, gentle. “I’ll figure something out, alright? You don’t have to worry about it.” His phone chimes with a text in his pocket, and he pulls it out, nodding through the open door. “Why don’t you give me a second to answer this and go help Alf set up lunch?”

 

Tim looks reluctant, but he complies, hitching one of Cass’s bags higher on his shoulder before turning and making his way down the entrance hall. Dick sighs, wondering when his little brother got so _old_ , and reads the message that’s popped up on his screen. 

 

A beat later, his eyes widen, his heart jumping into his throat. He can barely believe it—what are the chances, just when he’s decided to stay in Gotham indefinitely? His mind floods with possibilities, opportunities—schedules and training—

 

What he could do with that money, if he got it—

 

For a long moment, Dick just stands there, staring at his phone. Then he grins, suddenly, and tosses it back into his pocket, picking up Cass’s bag to follow Tim into the house. Today, he’ll spend time with his family, catch up with his little brothers and give Alfred the reunion hug he deserves—

 

But tonight, a new world waits for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> literally ignored almost all of my responsibilities for the past 24 hours to churn this out and get it up. apologies tho bc this one is more of a filler than anything, for the purposes of setting up future Plot stuff--hopefully the dickcass bonding made it worth your time, i honestly love those two golden children more than my own life
> 
> anyways--stuff is Happening, yeah? who's excited?


End file.
